


This Ain't No Speeding Bullet

by mozbee



Series: Zamzoom! [2]
Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017), Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Humour, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 12:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: Freddy stared open-mouthed at Billy."What?" he asked weakly."I want you to shoot Superman."AKA Bruce teaches Billy the importance of making amends.





	This Ain't No Speeding Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> This directly follows 'Zamzoom!', so read that first.  
> This takes place about a week after Zamzoom ends.

When there was a loud commotion at the entrance to his lab, Bruce forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly. “Today’s the day,” he vowed to himself under his breath. He looked up to watch the halting steps of Shazam behind Barry.

“You said you _told him_ ,” he heard Barry’s newest friend hiss. “You can’t just _walk_ into another dude’s secret lair without an invitation.”

“Dude, who’s gonna invite _anyone_ to their secret lair?” Barry laughed. “Then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“Ohmy _god_ I shouldn’t have come here, he’s gonna get pissed—” there was a audible gasp—“his oven mitts!”

Bruce’s screwdriver rolled on its side with the gust of wind that signalled Barry’s appearance at his side. “Hey, it’s cool I brought Shazam here, right?” He was back tugging on his reluctant friend’s wrist before Bruce could blink. He took a deep breath and stood. Shazam stared at him.

“Hello Mr. Bat how are you?” he fairly shouted at Bruce. His eyes went wide and he flushed, covering his mouth with one wide hand. Barry burst out laughing and was next to Bruce, leaning on him and cackling.

“Barry,” Bruce muttered, giving him a shove. He nodded at Shazam. “Fine. You, uh,” he cast around for something to say, “keeping busy?”

“Yes sir,” Shazam nodded, “busy and…legal?” Barry spun to face him and nudged Bruce.

“Legal? Like—” Barry flashed over to lean in Shazam’s face—“ _porn_?”

“What?! No! Oh my god, _no_ ,” and Shazam laughed awkwardly and looked anywhere but Bruce. Barry leaned back and gave Shazam a considering look.

“How old are you?”

“Fifte-fifty.”

“You’re fifty years old?” Barry screeched. “Is this like a superpower thing where you age slow like a hobbit?”

Bruce frowned. “I thought it was the Ring that kept them young.” Barry goggled at him.

“Did you even _watch_ the movies? Wait,” he gave Bruce a suspicious onceover, “ _did_ you watch the movies?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, somewhat defensively. “Why would you question that?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “First: you’ve got it all wrong, ‘it’ being the powers of the One Ring and the decelerated aging of the hobbit; and B, when would you of all people ever have time to watch 11.4 hours of the OG trilogy?”

Bruce wasn’t sure if Barry had spoken English or not. “I watched them,” he reiterated, then, needing something to do, turned to his work table.

“Have you watched Star Wars?” Barry challenged, and Bruce saw him nudge Shazam out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not playing this game with you, Barry,” Bruce said, and lifted a screwdriver and set it back in the same spot. “What do you want?”

“Well, Shazam here and I here wanted to see what you were up to,” Barry said too casually to be true. “Friday night—”

“It’s Wednesday,” Bruce said, pulling open the top drawer of his desk and rummaging around importantly.

“—big plans, or maybe just a night in? Maybe making more bat-themed inventions, like a, a,” Barry struggled with the words, “a bat vending machine. Bat flavoured soda.”

“That sounds awful,” Shazam said.

“It _is_ awful,” Bruce confirmed, shutting his tie in the desk drawer and tugging it free subtly. He stood and leaned against his desk. “You want something. Ask.”

Barry looked at him with wide eyes. “Me? An ulterior motive? I never—” he flashed and grabbed Shazam and the two of them stood in front of Bruce half a second later. “Can we borrow the bat mobile?”

“What?” Shazam screeched. He looked at Bruce and shook his head. “I didn’t know he was going to ask you that— oh my god can we though?”

Bruce looked between the two of them and grinned. “Over my dead body.”

Barry groaned. “But Bruce, how are we supposed to fight crime if all we can do is run after people?”

“He can fly,” Bruce said, pointing at Shazam.

“Yes, but he already shot down my idea of him dropping me like a missile onto unsuspecting criminals _ergo_ , a vehicle is our next choice.”

“You don’t need the bat mobile, Barry.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“With my life,” Bruce said immediately. “But not with my car.”

“I— wow, that was surprisingly genuine,” Barry said, looking at Shazam with raised eyebrows. “I think I’m losing my righteous indignation.”

“You break my things all the time. That’s why you’re not allowed in the lab anymore,” he said pointedly. Shazam looked guilty while Barry looked only moderately chastised.

“Yeah but, I’m getting better.” He nudged Shazam. “I’m mentoring this guy too now kinda, so there’s that.”

“You are?” Shazam asked, looking surprised. Barry glared at him.

“Yes, so, there’s that,” he repeated. Bruce snorted and Barry zeroed in on him. “What, you don’t think I can be a mentor?”

“You can be whatever you want to be,” Bruce told him, “but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be any good at it.”

“All right,” Barry challenged, “you go then, Mr. Bat—” beside him Shazam flushed—” tell me one thing you think a superhero needs to know.” A lightbulb went on for Bruce, and he took the chance.

"It's important to learn to take responsibility for your actions," Bruce said. "You need to know when to make amends. That's part of what choosing to be a hero means."

Barry scoffed. “Wrong. First thing is your best profile for interviews.”

Shazam stared at the blender on the table in front of him, eyes unfocused. "So, if I break something, or hurt someone, it's up to me to make it right."

"Exactly," Bruce nodded. Shazam straightened and Bruce felt a swell of satisfaction, seeing the determination on his face.

"I have to ask Superman something," he declared. "Thanks, Mr. Wayne."

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked. Shazam hurried from the room without answering. Bruce stared after him. Barry suddenly appeared in front of him, holding a slice of pizza.

"Dude," he said, biting into gooey cheese, "you need to be way less subtle."

Bruce glared. "What do you mean."

Barry shrugged. "Bring it up yourself. “Hey Shazam, when you killed my blender it made me sad that you never apologized for it.” You gotta hit him in the face with it. He'll never pick up on a hint."

“It’s not even that,” Bruce said, and added, "I left it out in the middle of the room. He looked right at it."

"Yeah but," Barry swallowed, smacking his lips, "he's the same guy who thinks Clark never advanced further technologically than a pager and Clark has used his LG right in front of Shazam before." He chewed on his crust and said through a mouthful, “I can help.”

“I don’t need help,” Bruce said shortly. He frowned at nothing and considered.

-

-

-

“I mean, what does Superman think about this?" Freddy demanded. Billy opened his mouth and froze.

"Uh, I haven't...asked him yet." He crossed the room to his dresser and tugged the top drawer open, rifling through socks and pulling something out triumphantly. Freddy stared.

"Is that a pager?" he asked. "Where the hell did you get a pager?"

Billy tossed it back in the drawer, looking satisfied. "Superman gave it to me. I just paged him." He dropped to sit next to Freddy on the bed, and stared ahead, twiddling his thumbs.

After a few moments of silence passed, Freddy asked, "What are you doing?"

"Waiting," Billy replied. "He'll call back."

"Did he really give you that pager?" Freddy asked. Billy nodded. "That seems...weird."

"Why weird?"

Freddy shrugged. "I mean, it's like an archaic piece of technology. Why wouldn't he just exchange phone numbers with you?"

Billy laughed. "Okay, so I know it really doesn't seem like it, but he's like, the least tech savvy guy. It surprised me too but I guess the pager is as far as he got with modern tech."

They could hear the landline ring downstairs. "But—" Freddy frowned. "He runs his own Twitt—"

"Billy!" Rosa called up the stairs. "Phone's for you!" Billy jumped to his feet.

"That was fast!" He dashed out of the room. Freddy scrolled through his Twitter feed and stopped on @manoftweets. He tapped his finger on the last update. "Updated from Android," he read out loud. He frowned. "Superman has an Android?" He looked at his iPhone. Billy banged back into the room.

"Okay, let's go meet him."

"Does he know you want me to shoot him?"

Billy pulled his sweater on and handed Freddy his crutch. "No, I want to ask him in person."

"Right, yeah, this is totally the kind of thing that sounds better in person." He stood up and caught his tossed sweater from Billy. "I'm only going with you because I will never pass up a chance to hang out with Superman."

"Right," Billy nodded. "And to nail him with one shot."

-

-

-

"Do you even have a gun?" Freddy asked. Billy turned to Superman expectantly. He looked blankly at Billy.

"Why would I need a gun?"

Billy huffed a breath. "To be shot with!"

"This was your idea," he reminded Billy. "Why don't you have a gun?"

"Because I'm fift-- f-fed up with gun violence, I don't have a gun," Billy stammered. They both turned to Freddy.

"Really?" he asked flatly. "You really think out of the three of us, the crippled kid has a gun?"

"Okay," Billy waved his arms. "So, we just need to get a gun?"

"How?" Freddy demanded. Billy shrugged.

"Criminals get them all the time."

"Through criminal means," Superman pointed out. "We aren't obtaining one illegally."

"Dude, you're both like, old," Freddy pointed out. "You'd be able to buy a gun no problem."

"They require ID," Superman said. "I have been lax and allowed mine to expire." He looked at Billy.

"I don't even have pockets in this," Billy said, pointing at his suit. "Where would I keep my ID?" He paced, cape swirling behind him. "How are we going to get a gun?”

-

-

-

Freddy stood when Billy and Superman circled low in the sky and landed in front of him.

“Did you get it?” Freddy asked. Billy held out a small black gun, looking pleased. “Wow,” Freddy said, because he had been kind of hoping it wouldn’t happen. “Where did you get it from?”

The two of them exchanged a look, and Billy laughed awkwardly.

“From his girl—”

“Aah!” Billy yelled and waved his hands, He glared at Superman who smiled serenely back. "Go on," Billy said, thrusting the gun at Freddy. "Shoot him."

Freddy shook his head, holding the gun out by the barrel. "I never said I was going to do it!"

"I assure you, I'm fine with it," Superman promised him.

"I am _not_ shooting _Superman_ ," Freddy said through gritted teeth. Billy rolled his eyes.

"It's not like you can hurt him."

"That's not the point! You don't shoot Superman," he sputtered. "It'd be like hawking a loogie on baby Jesus. You just don't."

Billy put his hands on his hips. “You’re making it really hard to make up losing your bullet to you.” Freddy stared at him.

“What?”

Billy sighed and gave Superman a look. “Do you mind if we just—”

“No, go ahead,” Superman replied. The three of them watched each other silently for a minute. “Oh,” Superman said, startled, “did you mean for _me_ to leave, or—?”

“Well like, I meant for me and Freddy to have privacy,” Billy said, looking awkward, “but I guess we could have walked away too—”

“No,” Superman held up a hand, “I will make myself scarce.” He turned and walked the length of the alley, stopping under a sagging fire escape and giving them a thumbs up.

“Uh,” Billy said, exchanging a look with Freddy, “so, back to what I was saying.” He sighed and straightened up, facing Freddy head on. “Remember when I lost your Superman bullet?”

“His _what_?” Superman called. “Did you say Freddy had a Superman bullet? What is that?”

“It’s—” Billy gave Freddy a helpless look. Freddy shrugged and Billy yelled back, “it’s a bullet that hit you and just kind of—” he brought his hands together in front of him—“squished. And Freddy had one and I stole it to sell it—wait, I’m gonna get back to this, okay?” He turned to Freddy, a weird look on his face and his voice at a normal level. “Sorry. Uh. Anyways, I lost your bullet, which you know cause you were there, and I realized that I never made it up to you.”

“Oh,” Freddy nodded. “That’s all right, it was an accident you lost it, I mean not an accident you _stole_ it in the first place but—" Billy shook his head.

“No, Freddy, it’s not all right. It was a real shitty thing for me to do to you, and I want to make amends. I owe you,” Billy said earnestly.

“Okay, well, that’s cool of you, and also really mature, which is kind of weird,” Freddy pointed out. Billy made a face, a mix between sheepish and pleased.

“Well, Mr. Wayne kind of taught me about this,” he admitted. “He said I have to take responsibility for my actions. That it’s part of what choosing to be a hero means.”

“Dude,” he said, gaping at Billy, “he dadded you.” Freddy gasped. “He _bat_ -dadded you. You’re his—" They gawked at each other.

“Batson,” they whispered in unison.

“Whooaaaa,” Billy breathed. “Who knew Mr. Wayne could be so—”

“I thought you called him Mr. Bat,” Superman yelled. Billy groaned and buried his face in his hands while Freddy snorted.

“Did you actually call him Mr. Bat?” Billy glared over his shoulder at the Man of Steel who leaned against a Wall of Brick.

“It was a mistake!” Billy hissed, giving Freddy a desperate look. “I was nervous about seeing him again, and I didn’t know if I should call him Batman or Mr. Wayne so I just kind of called him both?”

“Well,” Freddy said, giving Billy a sympathetic pat on the back, “I’m sure he has it on tape so he can watch it over and over again and you can never live it down.”

“He does,” Superman promised from where he suddenly stood behind the two of them. “I assumed you were done needing privacy.”

“What privacy?” Billy muttered.

“I have an appointment in one hour,” Superman announced.

“Right!” Billy clapped his hands. “Let’s get shooting!”

-

-

-

It turns out Freddy really wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t shoot Superman. Hell, he couldn’t even aim the gun at the man. Billy stood with his hands on his hips, staring Freddy down.

“He has an appointment soon,” Billy reminded Freddy, who glared at him.

“I don’t care!” He turned to Superman quickly. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t care about you, I totally do, but in the way that isn’t creepy or stalker-ish, more like in the way that _cannot_ shoot you.” Superman looked down at Freddy from his towering height.

“You have a good heart, Freddy Freeman,” and Freddy about died right there in the alley. Billy scoffed loudly.

“Sure but how is that going to help _me_?” he demanded. “The whole point of this is to give him back something I stole, and the only way to do that is— hey kid!” he yelled suddenly, cupping his hands around his mouth. Freddy and Superman followed Billy’s gaze and saw a teen stopped in the entrance to the alley.

“…yeah?” he called back, looking between the three of them. Freddy about had a heart attack when Billy made to throw the _loaded gun_ at the kid, but was quickly thwarted by Superman.

“Come here!” Billy ordered, waving the kid over impatiently. He gestured to Superman. “He has an appointment to get to so chop chop.”

“Why the fuck should I?” the teen called back, irritated.

“Cause you get to shoot Superman if you do— wow, that worked,” Billy said, looking down at the boy who had sprinted over in the blink of an eye. “Do you have an uncle named Barry or something?”

“No but I’m on a scavenger hunt and this is a thing,” the boy said, thrusting his phone at Billy. Billy took it from him and read from the open Google doc.

“’Something unbelievable’. Huh,” he said, squinting at Superman. “Yeah, this would totally count.”

“I’m not gonna get, like,” the teen waved his hands in the air between them and Superman frowned.

“No, I will not super kill you,” he promised the boy, giving Billy a look.

“It’s a legitimate fear,” Billy hissed back, then turned to Freddy. “Are you ready for this?”

“No!” Freddy said. “But I mean, if I don’t have to do it, and it’s not gonna hurt him, and I get to keep the bullet after—”

“Good!” Billy said loudly. He handed the gun to the teen and pushed Freddy behind himself. He waved at Superman. “All right, go ahead.”

“Wait,” the boy said. He held his phone out. “I need someone to record it or they’ll never believe me.”

“I’ll do it,” Freddy said, stepping forward to take the phone. “I’ve filmed someone getting shot in the face before.” At Superman’s alarmed look, he added, “it was him,” jerking his head at Billy who gave a little wave.

“We were trying to figure out my powers,” he explained.

“What if he wasn’t bulletproof?” Superman asked, sounding incredulous. Billy and Freddy exchanged a look.

“Uh—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Billy decided. He nodded at the teen. “We’re ready.”

“Just…anywhere?” the boy asked, looking between them. Superman shrugged.

“It’s rather disrespectful to shoot someone in the face, no matter their invulnerability.”

“Aim for the ‘S’!” Billy called. The boy shrugged and took aim. Superman squared his shoulders and planted his feet. Freddy held his breath. The sharp _crack_ of the gunshot was louder than he’d expected, and he jerked with it. A soft _plink_ came when the flattened bullet dropped to the alley floor, and Freddy stopped the video and passed the teen his phone back.

“Awesome,” Freddy said, excitedly bending to pick up the bullet. He grinned at Superman. “Thanks! I mean, that’s kind of a screwed-up thing to say, ‘thanks for getting shot for my benefit’ but…yeah, thanks.”

“Man, this is awesome,” said the teen who had fired the gun, watching the video on his phone. “Thanks, Superman, Thundercrack.” He waved and jogged out of the alley. Superman was giving Billy an amused look.

“Did he just call you Thundercrack?”

Billy glared at Freddy, hands on his hips. “ _Yes_ , he did. Because _someone_ just had to come up with a name for me, and it just _had_ to be something butt-related—”

“Not on purpose,” Freddy interjected hurriedly.

“—and of all the stupid names you came up with, _that’s_ the one that is sticking,” Billy finished as if Freddy hadn’t spoken. “There’s been a lot,” he added to a bemused Superman.

Superman nodded. “I had my share of monikers, nicknames, before the one they know me as took hold. The Metropolis Marvel. The Red Blue Blur,” he said with a grimace.

“You introduced yourself to me as Kal-El,” Billy said, and Superman nodded.

“That is the birth name my parents gave me. Here on Earth, I go by Clark.”

Freddy gaped up at him. “Did you just tell us half of your secret identity?”

Superman smiled down at him. “I feel it is only fitting, especially now that we have bonded as we have over this endeavour.”

“My name isn’t really Zamzoom,” Billy said. “It’s Billy.”

“Wait,” Freddy said, “when did you tell him your name was Zamzoom? And why?”

“Well, I didn’t know how the whole ‘secret identity’ thing works!” Billy said. “I mean, do I tell Superman who I am right away and just trust him because he’s Superman?”

“Yes,” Freddy said.

“Yes,” Superman agreed. Billy threw his hands up and walked away, shaking his head.

“It’s hard for Billy to introduce himself,” Freddy told Superman in a conspiratorial tone, “cause he doesn’t really have a set superhero name yet, and it’s not like he can just say, “Hi, my name is Shazam—”

When the smoke cleared, Freddy was pressed against the brick wall behind him, and looking into the very confused eyes of one Kryptonian.

“Freddy?” he asked, flummoxed.

“Oh,” Freddy said with a sheepish grin, “uh, I was gonna mention it—”

“Freddy!” Billy was at his side giving him a Look. “I thought you said you still weren’t sure if you were going to tell him.”

“I wasn’t,” Freddy said as Superman released him and stepped back.

“I thought the lightning had killed you,” he told Freddy. He looked past Freddy to the imprint in the bricks. “You’re fine?”

Freddy nodded. “Totally, I mean, that’s probably…my fault somehow, so—”

“I hope you feel that you can trust me, Freddy Freeman,” Superman said, and oh, did Freddy’s heart drop.

“Dude, I totally do, it’s not that at all, it’s just,” he stopped and sighed, “this is like, my dream come true, man. When I’m like this, I’m awesome. I have superpowers, and I get to meet _Superman_. You’re literally my hero.” He looked down at his feet and added, “I didn’t want you to know that when I’m not this guy, I’m just some crippled kid.”

“Ohmygod,” Freddy heard Billy rasp. “So _sweet_.”

“Thank you, Freddy Freeman,” Superman said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “No matter your form, you would never be ‘just some crippled kid.’”

“Don’t you have an appointment?” Freddy asked to distract from the burning in his eyes.

“I don’t even think you have an appointment,” Billy told Superman. “I think you just didn’t want to get shot.”

Superman blinked. “No one _wants_ to get shot.” Billy waved him off.

“Well, Freddy got his bullet, so we’re done here, right?”

“No,” Freddy said. The other two stopped and looked at him.

“What do you mean ‘no?” Billy asked.

“I dropped it when I changed,” Freddy sighed. “I don’t know where it went.” They looked at the ground beneath them, litter soaked with garbage juice scattered around them, and what Freddy was pretty sure was a headless mouse.

“I wonder where that kid went,” Billy said, scanning the streets.

-

-

-

“He still hasn’t brought it up,” Bruce said, trying not to sound bitter or sulky like Alfred told him he did. Clark looked up from his phone, and immediately his gaze fell to the still-demolished NutriBullet laying in a warped, charred mess in the middle of Bruce’s work table.

“A child shot me in the chest today,” Clark offered. Bruce blinked and frowned.

“Why would a child shoot you?”

“Shazam asked him to,” Clark said, and he picked his phone up and stood. “I have an appointment,” he said suddenly, and gave a dazed Bruce a pat on the shoulder as he passed him. “I suggest you either bring it up yourself or drop it.”

Bruce most certainly did _not_ mock Clark’s departing words under his breath as he dropped to sit at his desk, keeping his back turned to the blender. Perhaps he _was_ making too big a deal of this, and he did like Shazam for the most part: he was honest, and smart, but he was also far too eager, far too genuine, far too…innocent.

Bruce picked up his mug and took a mouthful of cold coffee, glad to quell the odd tide that rose inside him, a familiar swell of protectiveness that he in no way wanted directed toward the hero, when he heard footsteps and an all-too familiar voice.

“Oh, sorry Bruce,” Barry said loudly as he led Shazam into the lab. He burst over to Bruce and purposely kicked the table leg, and spoke woodenly. “I knocked against your table and your blender rolled around a bit.” He winked at Bruce.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“You apologized for hitting his table before you hit his table,” Shazam said, looking puzzled.

“Hey, Shazzy ol’ pal, why don’t you come sit with me?” Barry called unnecessarily loud as he gestured spastically at the table.

“Uh, sure?” Shazam walked over and awkwardly perched on the edge of the bench. Silence reigned, broken only by Barry’s nose-heavy breathing. Shazam cleared his throat and addressed Bruce. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, if you have the time,” he added quickly.

“If he’s got time to watch all three Jackson masterpieces, he’s got time for a convo,” Barry told Shazam, and gave Bruce a meaningful look.

Shazam sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead, standing from the bench. “Do you mind if we just--?” he cut off, gesturing between himself and Bruce.

“No, go ahead,” Barry shrugged. Bruce echoed Shazam’s earlier sigh.

“Barry, get out.” Barry looked at him, feigning offense.

“You can’t tell me to— wait, is that what you meant?” he asked, eyes sliding over to Shazam.

“Yes, Barry, that is what I meant.”

“Oh.” Barry straightened out his shirt and threw his shoulders back. “Rude.” He gave Bruce a huge wink and was gone, a cup of pencils overturning in his wake.

“Okay, so…” Shazam faltered when Bruce turned to face him.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Uh, well, remember how I broke your NutriBullet the first time I was here?” He sounded sheepish.

Bruce felt a flare of hope. “Yes,” he replied. Perhaps this was it. Shazam was about to acknowledge the mishap. That was all Bruce had wanted from the other man, so it was no longer hanging over their heads.

“And then you made me wear those oven mitts so I didn’t blow anything else up?” Bruce nodded and Shazam went on. “And they had, like, bats all on them, and a little purple ribbon in the bottom, which was _stupid_ because it caught on fire so easily,” he muttered the last bit under his breath but Bruce heard it clearly all the same, “but,” he said loudly, looking at Bruce once more, “I have to tell you I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Bruce asked with a small smile. He was pleased with the resolution in his sights.

Shazam took a deep breath. “I burned them. They caught on fire, I did something stupid with them and— well, the point is they’re gone. And it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I broke yourblender—” he spoke in a rush and his face flushed—“I don’t have the money to replace it but I made you these,” and he reached behind him and shoved a pair of oven mitts, badly sewn with white bats on a black background, into Bruce’s arms. One of the bats had googly eyes. “Um, I realized those were going to melt if they actually touched anything hot so I didn’t put any more on but I couldn’t get those off without pulling the whole bat off cause I used gorilla glue and I’ll get you a new blender as soon as I can, I promise.”

Bruce stared at the oven mitts. The bat with the eyes had a frayed edge, and he could see sloppy, uneven hand stitching across the whole thing. He swallowed once, twice, against the tide rising at the back of his throat. “You made me oven mitts.” He saw Shazam nod slowly out of the corner of his eye. “Well,” Bruce said, managing to look the other man steadily in the eye, “I cook more than I make smoothies.”

Shazam laughed but trailed off quickly, looking unsure. “I don’t know if that means you like them or not.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and watched Shazam’s shoulders drop with relief. He considered him for a minute. “Freddy Freeman is your brother?”

Shazam nodded. “He said he met you one day after school last week—”

Bruce recalled the sap on his cowl and made a face. “Yes.”

“He also said you threatened him—” Shazam was quick to speak when he saw the look on Bruce’s face—“no no, it’s totally okay if you did, he thought it was really cool, he was like, _bragging_ about it…”

“I did not threaten him,” Bruce said. He thought he’d made that very clear to the boy he had trailed from school to the comic book store to the side street. “I gave him a batara—” he stopped and placed the oven mitts on the table next to the blender. “I didn’t threaten him,” he repeated, looking at Shazam imploringly.

“Like I said, totally cool if you did,” he promised Bruce.

“Is he also…” Bruce gestured at Shazam, who looked confused.

“Also?” he copied Bruce’s movement.

“Superpowered. Enhanced.” He thought a minute and added, “I can afford to say mutated.”

“Oh,” Shazam said, nodding. “Uh, y-yes. Yes. It’s fine that I tell you that, right? I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Yet he is always as he is?”

“Wow,” Shazam breathed, looking at Bruce with wide eyes. “You speak Yoda!”

Bruce frowned. “I do not. What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know what you just said but it did _not_ make sense, so I figured it was some wise, Yoda thing that you’re not meant to understand.”

Bruce rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “I _mean_ , does his physical state alter or does he always need his crutch?”

Understanding flooded Shazam’s face. “ _Ohh_ , yeah, no, he changes so he looks more like—” he made a wide sweeping gesture over himself. Bruce nodded.

“Does that mean you also have a tiny, teenaged form?”

“Uh, you know, that doesn’t make me, like, a kid or anyth— yes,” he sighed, hanging his head. “But I’m not tiny,” he added quickly. He squared his shoulders and stuck a hand out. “I’m Billy. Billy Bats—” he cut off with a choked sound.

Bruce released his hand and raised his eyebrows. “Billy Bats?”

“Yyyyyes,” Billy drawled, frowning. “That’s a…name.”

“It’s funny,” Bruce told him. Billy looked at him sideways.

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Bruce said. He grimaced and added, “Barry calls it my ‘resting bitch voice’.”

“Wow,” Billy blinked, “and you let him get away with that?”

“No,” Bruce promised him, and left it at that. Billy grinned. “I did want to ask you something,” Bruce added, and Billy nodded enthusiastically.

“Anything!”

“How do you change from yourself to this?” Bruce gestured at Billy. Billy grinned.

“It’s actually really cool, do you like lightning?”

“I,” Bruce started, then stopped. “I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted.

“Well, it’s awesome. Watch.” Billy jogged across the room and stood under the empty elevator shaft. “Shazam!” Bruce blinked against the bright flare of lightning and when he could see again, there was a teenager standing in front of him.

“Hey,” he said to Bruce, and his voice was considerably higher. “So, this is me,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Did that lightning bolt just tear through my house to reach you?”

Billy looked panicked. “Uh, well, just through the—” he gestured behind him at the elevator. “I can fix it?”

Bruce pointed at the table and Billy sat on the edge of his seat.

“The oven mitts were warm.”

Billy stared at him, clearly thrown. “I— what?”

“Why were they warm?”

Billy still looked confused but answered. “Oh, cause I had them stuck under my belt behind me. Like, under my cape.”

Bruce nodded. “Why?”

“…so I could surprise you with them?” Billy flushed. “Are they lame? I’m sorry, I just don’t have the money for that blender and then I destroyed your oven mitts and everything kind of—” he flung his fingers outward, an imitation of an explosion. Bruce shook his head.

“I appreciate them,” he promised. “Although I meant more why were they under your belt?”

Billy patted his thighs. “No pockets.” He pointed behind him towards the elevator. “What about the—?” Bruce waved it off.

“Barry’s done worse.”

“You haven’t even seen—”

“Trust me,” Bruce said, “Barry’s done worse.”

“Huh,” Billy said, nodding. He glanced around the lab and stood. “I guess I should go, I just wanted to—” he motioned at the oven mitts on the table.

“Do you,” Bruce faltered when Billy turned to look at him. “I’ve been working on some ‘bat inventions’,” he quoted Barry with a wry grin, “maybe you’d be interested in having a look?”

Billy’s eyes widened and he beamed. “Really? That would be awesome! Yeah.” He joined Bruce at his desk and reached for a gyroscope that sat on the corner.

He stopped himself and looked up at Bruce sheepishly. “Can I look at that?”

“Go ahead,” Bruce nodded. He booted up his computer and projected his in progress works on the screens above them, keeping a quietly proud smile to himself.

There was an audible gasp beside him. Billy stared up at the screens. “Is that a bat themed vending machine?”

“It’s not bat flavoured anything,” Bruce was quick to say. Billy held a hand up and Bruce fell silent. Billy pointed at the screen.

“Are those bat wings that grab your drink and drop it down a ramp that looks like your cape and into the collection basket that is a mini bat mobile?”

Bruce nodded. Billy turned to him and broke out into a wide grin.

“Barry is gonna shit himself.”

Bruce groaned and Billy laughed.

“What?”

“Remember how I told you Barry’s done worse?”

“Yea— oh, _ew_ —"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it and if you did, tell me why and if you didn't, keep it to yourself because holy hot dogs I am Fragile.


End file.
